Before
by DixieH
Summary: The meeting of Watson and Holmes is life changing.  What was it like before?
1. Watson

_This piece is set before Holmes meets Watson and changes his life. Of course I don't own a single thing in this universe. - Dix._

**Watson:**

It's his favorite time of day. He strips to vest and boxers and slides between cool sheets. He lies briefly on his back and then rolls on his side bunching the pillow under his head. His eyes barely flutter shut when the sound of ricocheting small arms fire echoes in his ears. Then there is a light show behind his eye lids as explosions rocket through the blackness. There are soldiers and the sound of grenades and machine guns and in the distance a helicopter comes in low. He is not really hearing or seeing. Nor is he reliving any particular fire fight. It's just the way he lulls himself to sleep these days.

He's missing Afghanistan. Combat deployment was the _best thing_ that had ever happened to him. It was no exaggeration. He loved the frantic pace of the work. Being a doctor at the world's busiest trauma hospital, it was better than he'd hoped. When the operating room didn't need him, he sometimes volunteered to work a shift with the Medical Emergency Response Team. He'd only managed a few flights on their helo before he requested permanent reassignment to the team. Called out to medevac the wounded, in the midst of ongoing military operations across the sector, they have minutes to land, get the patient on a stretcher and get back into the air. Sometimes, there is gun fire to dodge or explosions. It's all in a days' work. But, he doesn't make it to permanent reassignment.

A stray "lucky strike" bullet catches him as the helo lifts off. It rips through his shoulder. The impact spins him around and drops him to the floor. They haul him onto a stretcher beside the marine they came to save. Back at Bastion Hospital, he is no longer Dr. Watson, but Captain Watson. They operate, remove the bullet and fragments of metal and bone and stitch him up. And then they do the only thing they could have done to make it worse. They evacuate him to Bagram hospital. He awakes from surgery in unfamiliar surroundings, disconnected from his comrades, his hospital, and his work. It is here when they get him up and moving around that the limp begins. They x-ray and examine him but can find no physical cause. So he's transferred again. A hospital with better facilities, with more diagnostic tools, is recommended by his physician. With each new symptom, they send him further and further away from the action. So by the time he is back in Britain, his hand shakes so hard he can't hold a cup of tea, the limp requires a cane. He's got mandated therapy sessions and an army pension.

He's made a case for reinstatement. He's phoned, written letters and finally pleaded. He's spoken to everyone up the chain of command who would take his call. The army needs his skills. He is capable and willing. His injury doesn't affect his performance in the operating room or in the army. He could still be useful. But at every turn he is refused. He is unfit to return. The lumpy numb scar that stretches across his shoulder and under his arm is nothing nothing in comparison to the limp he can't lose and the tremor in his hand. Out is out. He is unfit. Unfit to be an army doctor. Unfit for active duty, invalided, pensioned, defeated, done. Between therapy sessions, he sits in his room and nothing nothing happens to him anymore.

**Thanks for reading. Feedback is always appreciated. - Dix.**


	2. Holmes

This is set before Watson meets Holmes and changes his life. Of course I don't own a single thing in this universe. - Dix.

**Holmes:**

Mrs. Hudson is lying in her bed. She has woken suddenly but she isn't sure why. She opens her eyes staring into the blackness. She listens to the sounds of the old house. Wind rattles a window. There is the creak of wood settling and a ping of water in old pipes. Just as she decides that all is well and closes her eyes to return to sleep. She hears the murmer of spoken words followed by a shout and the crash of furniture toppling. When Sherlock moved in, she was grateful. She was grateful for the rent and even for the sound of him in the house. She felt less lonely. Now his once charming nocturnal activities are distressing. Mrs. Hudson pushes back the blankets and fumbles for her slippers in the dark.

When she gets to the second floor, she finds his door wide open. He is dressed in his coat and scarf, like he is just going out or has just come in. He is standing at the fireplace. He is speaking quietly to the wall or perhaps himself. Though he seems to be talking to himself, she knows that he is not. In a moment he snatches up the skull and holds it at arm's length, speaking rapidly and with energy.

He hasn't heard her footfalls on the stairs, but doesn't startle when she speaks his name from the doorway. "Sherlock!" It is a reprimand. He turns to face her. "Ah Mrs. Hudson," he says, taking in her slippers and dressing gown and her hair rumpled instead of carefully arranged. "Just coming up to say good night?"

"Sherlock, it's after midnight. You've woken me from a sound sleep - again!"

"Really, Mrs. Hudson. You must have been dreaming. A nightmare perhaps?" He sets the skull back on the mantle and nods its way. "He was plagued by nightmares."

"Sherlock, this must stop. I can't have you up here all night crashing about. You should sleep at night. I should sleep at night." She stepped into the room. "Perhaps, you need someone here with you. A girl friend perhaps?" He scowls and shakes his head. "A flat mate then." She says "There's the room upstairs." He inclines his head thinking. It only takes a moment for him to process her suggestion and see its merit.

"Mrs. Hudson!" he says smiling broadly. "That's a tremendous idea." He strides to her, takes her hands and leans in to kiss her cheek. "A flat mate, someone who could assist me on my cases."

Mrs. Hudson nods, and pulls away from his grasp. "Maybe someone who would do a little housekeeping?" She says waving a hand at the piles of paper, the boxes the test tubes and the overturned chair. "Someone you could talk to in the day time so you wouldn't be so lonely at night. You need your rest Sherlock. You should sleep at night." He has turned his back to her and picked up his violin. It is tucked under his chin though he has not bowed a single string. "Sherlock are you listening to me? Sherlock!" He begins to play then, a lullaby soft and sweet. Speaking now just to herself she says, "It's got to stop Sherlock. Either it's quiet here or out you go. I mean it. This has to stop."

"A flat mate," he says turning again to look her way. "I'll find one by the end of the week."

She purses her lips and then says firmly, "You do that dear." But of course he is a difficult man to find a flat mate for and it takes just a little bit longer.

Fin

**Thanks for reading. Feedback is always appreciated. - Dix.**


End file.
